Same Auld Lang Syne
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: "We should make a toast. To the time we have left, to the wonders in the world waiting to be discovered, to this Christmas Eve night. To us." Mr. Gold spends a Christmas Eve night with his lost love, even though she is unhappily wed to another in Storybrooke. One-shot. Rumbelle AU.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Ounce Upon A Time. ABC owns this awesome show and all its characters, including Mr. Gold/Rumpelstiltskin and Belle. **_

_**A/N: First off: this is mostly AU. In the FT world, Gaston was not turned into a rose, though the rest of "Skin Deep" remains intact (besides the locking Belle up in a mental asylum part). In Storybrooke, she is married to Gaston. **_

_**Okay, thanks in part to my story "Sunshine and Rain", I seem to be having a little bit of a Christmas week. If this were July, I'd say it's "Christmas in July". **_

_**This one-shot is based on the song "Same Auld Lang Syne" by Dan Folgelberg. I don't know why, but this song was playing on the radio the other day. Odd. But it made me think of Rumbelle for some reason and…the rest is self-explanatory. **_

_**I hope everyone enjoys this one-shot, even if it is nowhere near December. Again, I blame "Sunshine." **_

_**Same Auld Lang Syne**_

It was Christmas Eve.

Soft patches of snow fell over the quiet town of Storybrooke, coating it in a white wonderland of frost and ice. The sun had long ago slipped into the earth, the streets empty of wandering civilians on this chilly night. All that remained was the flickering yellow streetlamps, casting a golden hue over the snow.

Mr. Gold—as was his real world counterpart, anyhow—wandered the barren general store, picking up a few last minute goods before Mr. Clark closed up for the holidays. It was supposed to be the merriest time of the year, what with overplayed jingles of "Rudolph" and "Frosty the Snowman" on the radio.

Truth be told, as Mr. Gold absently grabbed a package of tea and a copy of _The Daily Mirror_, he did not feel merry. These newly regained memories were giving him a headache, the kind that throbbed right behind your eyes.

He felt like he was trudging through a pool of mud. It wasn't because of the thick trundles of snow or the limp that burdened his leg, either. With these memories and his regained knowledge, his existence was severely cut off from every other hazy-minded citizen in Storybrooke. Unknown to them, this was not their true world.

Sometimes knowledge could be troubling.

Sighing deeply through his nose, Mr. Gold turned and collided into another person. A sharp cacophony arose and bounded off the frosty windows as groceries met the linoleum floor. Gold straightened his charcoal suit and was ready to berate the object of his grief, but all sense of words lodged in his throat as he met a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

It was Belle.

Of course, that was not her name in this world, but he did not have the mind to care. Her name danced pleasurably on his tongue. _Belle…_

She was dressed in a simple, battered winter coat and worn jeans, but still she glowed with the life he remembered. Her rich waves graced her shoulders, brushing along the rosy apples of her cheeks. Pink petal-like lips were puckered in a shy smile, half-hidden by a book.

At first, she did not seem to recognize who he was—it was rare for her to roam the town after her mother's false death here in Storybrooke. But then her eyes flew open wide and she bent to retrieve both their items, to save his leg the trouble.

"Forgive me, Mr. Gold. I guess I didn't see you there," she nervously apologized, holding out the box of tea and newspaper. Mr. Gold accepted them, his fingers caressing her soft skin for a brief moment. Soft as the petals of a rose and just as delicate.

"No harm done, Be…dearie," he replied, nearly letting her name slip. His mind was a jumble of memories with regret licking at his heels. "What brings you out so late on Christmas Eve? Egg nog?"

Belle's laugh was musical and hearty at the same time—the kind of genuine, easy-going laughter that arose from a child. Mr. Gold would have given anything to listen to it endlessly, especially with the way her smile would reach her ears and her eyes shined with joy.

"No, we have plenty of that. I was just picking up…" A hand fluttered to the contents of her basket. A frown creased her lips and she blushed—a soft pink clouding porcelain skin. It came from embarrassment.

As his speculative brown eyes wandered to her basket, his body stiffened with disappointment and perhaps a little heartache as well. From here, he could read the name of the product and his slender fingers curled around his cane tightly, a distraction from the misery chipping away at his mind.

Inside her basket was a single item: a pregnancy test.

"I'm not entirely sure yet, but I think…I might be…" Belle's tender lip quivered as she choked out the words. It wasn't the happy anticipation of an expecting mother. Quite frankly, it seemed she was miserable about it, viewing it as something that just _was_. A duty she had to perform that would only further tie her down.

Numbness overwhelmed him as he recalled her dream of seeing the world. Just as he had taken that dream from her once, so this curse had done the same.

One month ago, a potential pregnancy scare wouldn't have irked him. Emma Swan's presence in Storybrooke, however, was changing things. Time had begun to move again and where a pregnancy had once been impossible, it could now progress smoothly. Ashley had proven that herself.

"I see," he mumbled, averting his gaze. The silence was as sharp as a knife, the conversation between them dragging its feet.

In his peripheral vision, Belle's brown head lifted and she was smiling warmly. That smile brightened her features, made her truly beautiful.

"Would you…like to come with me? We could share some of that tea," she suggested, one of her delicate hands pointing to the box in his grip. Mr. Gold, inches from his beauty, inclined his head appreciatively. It wasn't as though he had someone waiting at home.

"I would enjoy the pleasure of your company…Miss French," he obliged and followed her light steps to the check-out stand. Together, they gathered the bags and stepped out into the frozen wasteland of Storybrooke. Mr. Gold highly anticipated his evening with Belle.

It was the best gift she could have given him.

* * *

The black kettle whistled and Belle poured two steaming mugs of tea. She offered one to Mr. Gold and settled on the other end of the couch from him, her shapely legs tucked underneath her.

For a long moment, they sipped and allowed the tea to heat its way to their bellies. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but the words were lost on him. No one had ever rendered him speechless before. Only her.

"It's terrible…what happened to Sheriff Graham. And right before Christmas," Belle released a small, sympathetic moan as she cupped her mug of tea.

He followed her gaze to the corner of the _Mirror_, sticking out of one of the plastic bags. He smirked; if Graham had still been alive, there was no doubt he'd be spending his Christmas in the Queen's…er, the _Mayor's_ bed.

"Unfortunate," he flatly agreed. _But not as unfortunate as losing you, _he thought with a jolt of guilt. He had been the one to throw her from his castle, after all.

Belle suddenly sat upright with a brilliant gleam in her eyes.

"We should make a toast. Since it's Christmas Eve," she declared. "To Graham and the innocence he upheld in Storybrooke." Belle raised her mug of tea. Smiling gently, Mr. Gold tapped his own mug against hers, the chime ringing out in the quiet house.

"To time," he proclaimed. _Time that I spent with you. And may I have more of it. _

"To the time we have left, to the wonders in the world waiting to be discovered, to this wonderful Christmas Eve night. To us," she added and brought the tea to her lips. Mr. Gold eyed her in awe.

"Very well said, Miss French," he commended her. Belle lowered the mug to her lap and smiled sadly. Did he say something wrong? Was it something he did that upset her?

"Actually…it's Mrs. Hunt now," she admitted, peering down into her mug. "Seems like it's been forever since the wedding."

His fingers tightened over his mug until he thought it might shatter into countless shards. How could he have forgotten? Damn those false memories. Of course Regina would have arranged Belle's unhappy marriage to that narcissistic oaf, Gaston. And Belle now thought she was pregnant…it pierced him like that jagged dagger that bore his name.

Belle must have sensed his discomfort, for she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Her touch burned him straight to the bone.

"Oh, but my husband isn't here now. He's out with a few of his friends. Probably drinking at Granny's Diner. He's…he's always late coming home. But he's…he's…" Belle hopelessly trailed off as she tried to find one decent thing to say in defense of her husband.

_Your husband is a fool, dearie, _he was tempted to exclaim. _If I were your husband, I'd be home right after work and I would smile in your presence. I would grovel at your feet, give you anything you could desire, and kiss you until you whimper. I would cradle you in my arms until you fell into a blissful sleep. I would protect you. _

But, alas, he could not bring himself to say any of those things.

"Do you love him?" Even to his ears, it sounded like an accusation. Belle's head jerked up, her brown waves lightly grazing her cheek. What would she do if he reached out and brushed it away, perhaps tucked it behind her ear? Would she cringe away or would she lean into his touch?

"I would like to say I love him with all my heart…but I don't like to lie," she sorrowfully admitted. A gentle tear pooled in her eye, threatening to fall. "He keeps me warm and safe and dry…and that is all he can give me."

Mr. Gold shifted on his seat to draw closer to her, not even caring when he put all his weight on his bad leg. He didn't need to ask the reason for not leaving him. He read it in her eyes—in this world, Belle did not contain the spirit or the bravery to trudge through a divorce, curse or no curse.

Didn't Gaston realize the treasure he possessed? Didn't he tell her every day, every available second, that her love was all that could be desired of her and worth every strand of gold if she would offer it?

The sad part was that Belle understood that there would never be love in this marriage, understood the vain ways of her idiot husband. The worst part was that she was unaware of the appreciation she deserved.

"You truly are beautiful," he whispered to her, carefully lifting her chin with two fingers. Belle gazed hard into his eyes.

Even though time had been at a standstill, those other years in the Enchanted Forest had been a friend to her. Her eyes were still the enchanting blue jewels they had been during her time with him, glittering as brightly as the rays of the spring sun.

"Thank you," she politely replied. In those eyes, he wasn't sure if he saw doubt or gratitude for his compliment. And he hated Gaston all the more. Belle did not even realize how beautiful she was.

Belle inclined her head from his touch and he reluctantly dropped his hand. Their tea was growing cold, their tongues tired and running out of things to say already.

"I've passed your shop once before. You must be doing well," she was making small talk. Mr. Gold sighed.

"The business is more or less heavenly…but the traveling is hell," he remarked, gesturing to his lame leg. Belle's eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her heart.

"I'm sorry," she sympathetically offered her condolences. He would have liked to imagine a different meaning behind those two words, but he could tell from the characteristic haziness that marked every person's eyes here—she did not recall her true memories.

"Don't be," he replied. Unbeknownst to her, there was a greater meaning behind _his _words. He meant it in reference to another time, where she had possibly been happiest. She had been the brave one, he the cowardly beast. It had taken him years to admit it, but Belle had been right about it all.

Clearing her throat, Belle set her cool mug on the table before them and rose from the couch. She bit her lip nervously.

"I think it's time I checked on that pregnancy test."

* * *

Mr. Gold despised this house that imprisoned his Belle in a false marriage. He despised the dark greens and browns of the living room that reminded him of a dark forest. Most of all, he despised the photos of Belle and Gaston, telling false stories of their wedding day, family, and younger years.

They may be false memories, but they still hurt considerably. So, he flipped the photos down, refusing to look at them a second more.

He was relieved when the bathroom door opened. All too quickly, though, that relief was replaced by aching fear—fear that this pregnancy would be another milestone in the curse's intricate web, another reason to drive his beauty further from his reach.

How could he endure watching her be embraced by another man's arms while her belly swelled with an unborn child? Plain and simple: he couldn't. _Now I'm starting to feel the curse's effects. No wonder Snow White and Prince Charming are miserable. _

Belle stood there in the doorway for a long moment, staring down at the white stick in her hands. His lungs refused to draw in a breath, selfishly hoping…hoping…

Those cornflower blue eyes met his and her lips parted. Only three words slipped out.

"I'm not pregnant."

Something broke inside him, as if those magical words had lifted a cruel curse from his shoulders. Before he could think, he swept Belle into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips, his hands delving into the rich waves of her hair.

At first he was met with resistance as she pressed her hands to his chest. And then the resistance slipped away and she kissed him back, moaning softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

His hands caressed their way down her body and nestled on her hips. Slowly, he pushed her against the wall and allowed his lips to trail across her skin. Up to her ear, down her neck, kissing the hollow of her throat where her heartbeat ran rapid.

Perhaps this was his second chance. He could show Belle exactly how she deserved to be loved, show her what she was truly missing. He would take his time with her—caress every inch of her body, kiss her until she was wholly satisfied. He would whisper her name in her ear and tell her just how beautiful she was.

"My Belle," he whispered now as her hands roamed his back.

And suddenly, the spark between them was gone. She urged him backwards and crossed her arms over her body. He was still breathing heavily as he tried to understand it. She only shook her head.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't even have shared this with you," she gestured to the pregnancy test that had fallen from her fingers when he'd swept her up. "We can't…I can't…"

It was the curse, he knew it. The curse was driving them apart, enforcing her false memories and sense of loyalty to Gaston. Not to him. But, damn it, they'd been close.

"Belle, do not be afraid now. You deserve so much better," he reasoned with her, but she was adamant, already shaking her head again. Her blue eyes were downcast, avoiding his critical gaze. Her lip trembled, a steady red from where he'd passionately kissed her.

"We can't do this. I'm sorry. Just…go," she requested of him.

And suddenly he was back in that castle, staring into her eyes as she spoke her last word and strode away, out of his life. Except he had been the one to reject her then. This time around, _Belle_ was rejecting _him. _And it ached more than any wound he'd ever gotten.

Belle walked him to the door after he first gathered his things. Quite surprisingly, she paused to lay a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Merry Christmas…Mr. Gold," she told him without a hint of bitterness or sarcasm. Right then, he wanted to tell her how much he cared for her, to make her _see. _But his old self intruded—he started down the path and heard the door close behind him.

And as he made his way back home, the snow turned into rain.

* * *

_**Yeah, most of the interaction between them and many of the lines come from the actual song. **_

_**I hope everyone enjoyed reading it. **_


End file.
